


The Purrfect Crime

by lalunaunita



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Catwoman - All Media Types
Genre: Based on a children's book, Based on a previous work, Expanded from source material, F/M, Fun Batman, Gen, Greatest Detective, Missing cats, Strong Catwoman, Strong Selina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-13 13:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalunaunita/pseuds/lalunaunita
Summary: All kinds of cats in Gotham are disappearing! When several expensive animals are stolen, Batman's top suspect is Catwoman. But is there more to these thefts than meets the eye?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madammina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madammina/gifts).



> This story is based on a 1991 children’s book of the same name by Andrew Helfer. When I heard about it, I thought it was such a great (and cute) plot that I wanted to try writing my own version!   
> Major plot points and storyline are all credited to Andrew Helfer. New story text and new subplots are by me. Copies of the original book are available and the ISBN to find the book is 0307126218.  
> Many thanks to @madammina for remembering this book and bringing it to my attention. Now I have my own copy to share with my kids, plus a new fan fic to enjoy writing!

Forty squirming squealing kids threw popcorn and chattered at each other in the rows below Bruce Wayne at the Gotham City Circus’s Charity Night. Charity Night at the Circus had become a tradition in the Wayne household over the last few years. Shortly after adopting Dick Grayson, the young man had requested a circus outing for the children at his old orphanage. Bruce had readily agreed.

He always turned it into an event - play at an exclusive park, dinner, and then the show under the Big Top. Curiously, Dick never attended. Bruce didn’t press him. He knew all too well the pain childhood memories could bring.

Bruce and his date sat wisely out of range of the concessions-turned-missiles. She turned to him, the elegance of her black velvet dress belying her giddy excitement.

“What’s your favorite part of the circus?” Tatiana asked him, her lustrous dark hair tossed in waves over one shoulder.

“The big cats,” Bruce replied immediately. “They’re so gorgeous and powerful.”

“Oooh, must be something of a kinship, I suppose,” she teased, batting her eyes flirtatiously.

Bruce tried not to roll his as he focused his attention back on the three rings below. Tatiana was an extraordinary beauty, just the kind of woman Bruce Wayne _should_ be seen with around Gotham. She was also an utter bore, unfortunately. Music swelled and the children quieted as a spotlight popped on, focused on the Ringmaster in the center of the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is our privilege to bring some of the finest creatures in nature to you. Watch carefully, and don’t be fooled! While our trainer would have you believe these lions and tigers are tame as house cats, they are not to be trusted! Remark the ferocious gleam of their fangs and the sharpness of their claws. Please do not tempt their murderous appetites with a stray finger or hand! And now… on with the show!”

The crowd jumped to their feet to get a closer look at the cats, applauding the Ringmaster’s speech. All eyes were on the thick red curtains that led backstage, but minutes passed and no cats of any kind paraded forth. The pregnant silence was interrupted by shouts coming from behind the curtains.

Bruce casually pressed a button on the side of his cell phone and it rapped forth an irritatingly high-powered ringtone. He gave an exaggerated sigh for Tatiana’s benefit.

“Hang on, it’s the Board,” he said, affecting frustration as he pulled the phone out of his pocket. “I’ll be back in a minute. Hello…?”

Bruce stepped into the aisle, pretending to converse as he made his way quickly out of the stands. He stuck to the shadows, slipping around to the back of the big top. Outside the main tent, dancers, acrobats, and clowns walked to and fro, prepping for their acts or chatting with each other.

The argument had crescendoed; Bruce could hear the Ringmaster desperately shushing whomever was shouting.  Bruce hid himself in the darkness between two tall wooden crates and discovered he was fortuitously close to a seam in the main tent’s canvas. He put his eye to the opening and caught a glimpse of Commissioner Gordon’s familiar face.

“We’ll find your cats,” the Commissioner said, standing straight as an arrow and looking down his nose at a rather unkempt man in suspenders and a stained undershirt. “There aren’t that many places in Gotham to hide lions and tigers. Or that many places to sell them in a hurry. My men are on it already.”

“They better be!” the unpleasant man screeched. “Those animals are expensive. If my cats aren’t back by tomorrow, I could lose my job!”

The Ringmaster put a placating hand on the man’s arm, but he shrugged it off. Bruce watched as the Commissioner cast an observant eye over his surroundings. “Now, just to be sure I have everything down correctly, these are the cages for the big cats?”

He indicated four or five surprisingly small wheeled trailers arranged in a semicircle. They looked like old fashioned animal cracker boxes, although they did have the addition of thick rolled draperies that could be let down over the iron bars to fully enclose their tiny spaces. Bruce could see, and even smell, that they hadn’t been cleaned in a while.

“Yes, yes,” the trainer replied impatiently.

“And you did not take them out prior to their performance?”

“No! I already told you that!”

“And you do not have any kind of yard or pen for them to stay in - other than the cages?”

The man didn’t notice the steely glint in Commissioner Gordon’s eye as he shook his head quickly. “They stay in the cages if we aren’t training or performing. Seriously, are you even taking notes?”

“I just have to ask to be sure, Sir. Police procedure.”

Bruce grinned as the Commissioner turned away from the man and focused on the Ringmaster, completely dismissing the trainer from the rest of the conversation.

The man’s mouth opened and closed a few times and his eyes bulged. But the Commissioner resolutely refused to meet his eye. With an exasperated sigh and a few muttered curses, the trainer walked away to go scold his assistants at the cages.

“As I said,” Commissioner Gordon continued, still standing tall in his most imposing posture, “I already have people looking into all possible locations that can hold big cats. We’re checking all cargo transports out of the city, and taking every precaution to find your animals. In the meantime, detectives will be interviewing your employees - to see if anyone saw anything.”

Bruce heard the unspoken notion that the detectives would also be interviewing the employees as potential suspects. The Ringmaster picked up on it too, but nodded frantically.

“Whatever it takes to get George his cats back. He’s difficult at the best of times, but he knows how to train the big cats. We simply don’t have a show without them!”

As the Commissioner made his exit, Bruce leaned back from the circus tent canvas. George might be good at training, but either he or his staff were terrible at caring for their precious animals. Dirty cages and no room to run or play? He’d had no idea the Gotham City Circus kept any of their animals in such conditions. Maybe there was a way to put in an anonymous tip… but there was no guarantee an honest city worker would look into the case and issue citations to fix the problem. There had to be a solution, though. He’d think on it.

* * *

Later that evening, Bruce cruised the streets of Gotham after dropping off Tatiana at her penthouse. _The woman is part octopus,_ he thought sourly as he recalled his struggle to extricate himself from her amorous embrace at the door of her apartment. He’d pleaded an emergency board meeting and made tracks away from her door, leaving her beautiful pouting lips and sultry eyes behind.

Bruce stopped at a familiar intersection to wait out the red light. He looked up at the building on his left and noticed Commissioner Gordon’s light still on in his office.

Five minutes later, the Batman tapped softly at the Commissioner’s window. The silver-haired man looked up, startled, then smiled. He slid the window open and moved aside to allow Batman to descend on silent feet, the line of his grappling hook whizzing quietly as it retracted into his utility belt.

“You’re up late, Commissioner. Everything okay?” Batman asked as the two shook hands.

Gordon ran a hand through his wavy hair, sighing. “Just working on a weird one, Batman. Cats. Missing cats. With all the missing people in this town, you’d think that would take priority, but here I am, trying to track down animals like a dog catcher. Or a cat catcher, as the case may be.”

“I heard about the no-shows at the Circus. Are you saying there are more missing?”

Commissioner Gordon laughed without humor. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. A lot more, in fact. We’ve gone past ‘hundreds’ and are closing in on a thousand or more. I don’t know if we’re looking at some kind of predator or-”

“Are there signs of predation? Claw marks or other clues of struggle? Any blood, bones?”

The Commissioner shook his head. “No, thank heavens. God knows I’ve got my cat Ruffy secured at home, though. I was letting him out to roam every once in a while, but I keep him indoors all the time now.”

Batman nodded, thinking. “That’s a good idea, Jim. If you aren’t seeing any signs of violence, it seems more likely this is theft.”

“That’s where I was leaning too, Batman. I just got a call from the Southminster Cat show - one of the show cats has been taken, but the night watchman didn’t see a thing. I’m going to follow up in the morning and talk to the owner. You want to join me?”

“I’ll bring the coffee, Jim. See you there.” With that, Batman stepped onto the ledge of the open window and disappeared into the night.

Commissioner Gordon couldn’t help it, he leaned out before closing the window to see which way Batman had gone. But just like every other time, he never caught a glimpse of the Batman after his dramatic exit. He sighed. There was nothing more he could do for the case tonight. He closed the window, packed up his briefcase, and headed home, where he hoped Ruffy would still be waiting.

* * *

Dick was laid out on a comfortable Italian leather couch, flipping idly through a magazine when Bruce came through the den.

“And how was the lovely Ms. Aurbach?” he asked, lifting his eyes only marginally from the page.

“Grabby,” Bruce replied as he loosened his tie and removed his cufflinks, dropping them into the pocket of his slacks. Alfred never failed to check his pockets before washing.

“Oh, really?” Dick slapped the magazine closed and leapt to vertical with one of the effortless motions his acrobatic background afforded him. “That doesn’t usually vex you.”

“Who says I’m vexed?” Bruce retorted, just as Alfred entered with a tray.

The nascent argument was forestalled by a late night snack the butler had prepared. The trio settled in around a deeply stained and well-polished coffee table. Alfred poured tea from a silver service and passed the cups around.

“I trust Ms. Tatiana is well,” the butler began, “and that the Circus was a delight.”

“Actually, Alfred, someone stole the lions and tigers. But yes, the rest of the night was fine.”

Dick nearly spat out his tea and eyed Bruce incredulously. “The lions and tigers? Seriously? That’s kind of... specific. And heavy. It would be heavy.”

Bruce sipped his tea with perfect form, ignoring Alfred’s approving glance at his lack of slurp. “That’s not all. Tomorrow I’m meeting Jim Gordon to interview the owner of a missing show cat at the Southminster Cat Show.”

“Stolen as well?” Dick raised an eyebrow.

“I hate to make assumptions…”

“I know you do. I’ll wait for your conclusions upon examination of the evidence,” Dick replied, rolling his eyes. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Just be on call. You have anything else going on this week?”

“It’s summer break, Bruce. Other than a couple hot dates, I’m free.”

“Not too hot, I hope.”

“Alfred’s run background checks on them already. Well-bred young ladies from Gotham Academy, not a rebel among them. I’m just trying to be a normal teenager, Bruce. Promise.”

Bruce popped a water cracker topped with gruyere cheese into his mouth and leaned back, chewing. He swallowed. “I know, Dick. I’m glad. It’s not always easy with me, I’m aware.”

Dick grinned. “Easy is boring, anyway. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Bruce replied, stifling the urge to ruffle his ward’s hair.

Dick wasn’t a child anymore; he was a young man of sixteen. He was often still impulsive, but he had matured greatly over the six years he’d been Bruce’s ward, both as Dick Grayson and as Robin. Bruce was grateful for their friendship and partnership, though he couldn’t deny Dick kept him on his toes. Thank goodness for Alfred’s impeccable timing and mitigating influence.

“Well,” said the butler, breaking the silence as he gathered the tea service and stood, “I’m off to bed. And you should consider the same, Master Bruce. You have an early morning in the office -”

“And an even earlier meeting with Jim Gordon,” Bruce finished, standing and dusting off his knees. “Thanks, Alfred. Good night.”

“Good night, you two.” Dick settled back onto the couch with his magazine as the older men left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commissioner Gordon and Batman meet the owner of a missing cat. Bruce Wayne struggles with the board of Wayne Industries.

The next morning, at 5:58 am, Batman stood outside the doors of the grand auditorium that hosted the Southminster Cat Show, two cups of steaming coffee held in his hands. It felt a little odd to stand around holding coffee in broad daylight, but even in the summer, most of Gotham wasn’t awake and out on the streets yet anyway. Batman locked his jaw against a yawn. An unmarked sedan pulled up in front of the doors, its quiet engine purring for a moment before it shut off. Commissioner Gordon exited the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut, knuckling some sleep out of one eye as he did so.

“Morning, Batman,” he said, gratefully accepting the proffered cup of coffee.

He didn’t blink as he raised it to his lips and found it creamed and sugared exactly to his liking. Of course Batman knew how he took his coffee. Sometimes he marveled at the world he lived in, but it was too early for such existential musing today.

“Good morning, Jim. I trust you slept well - and that Ruffy was around to keep you company?” Batman waited politely as an officer in uniform unlocked the exterior door and held it open for the pair of them.

“He sure was. No worries. Hey, Carl,” the Commissioner greeted the flat foot who let them in.

“Hey, Boss. Nothing unusual after they reported the missing cat last night. The place has been quiet. Well, except for her,” Carl said the last under his breath, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at a frumpy looking woman.

“Is that Mrs. Golightley?” the Commissioner asked.

Carl nodded, his lips pressed hard together.

“Say no more.” The Commissioner straightened his tie and re-tucked his shirt into his slacks. “Okay, let’s go.”

They approached the irate woman, who advanced menacingly to meet them as soon as she caught sight of the Commissioner. She wore a pink cashmere sweater over a pink, plaid pencil skirt cut below the knee. The color of the rich fabrics clashed with her expensive, red woolen jacket.

“Finally. Finally! I’ve been here since four in the morning!” she fumed, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Hello, Mrs. Golightley, I’m-”

“I know who you are, Commissioner. I see you in the papers often enough. What’s _he_ doing here?” She turned her gimlet eye on Batman, a sneer curling her upper lip.

“Police consultant,” Batman replied, unperturbed. “I’m here by request.”

“Ridiculous costume. You can’t expect anyone to take you seriously,” she shot back.

Batman swallowed a response Dick would have been proud of. He turned to inspect the premises, listening as the Commissioner began his interview. They stood in a generous foyer. Soft morning light filtered through skylights overhead. Batman scrutinized them carefully, but they didn’t appear to have been tampered with.

With a thousand missing cats and a single cat-themed thief in Gotham, Batman had a short list of suspects. But it wouldn’t do to draw a conclusion without evidence. Catwoman had more than one modus operandi for breaking and entering. He’d check the door locks next.

He followed Mrs. Golightley and the Commissioner as they made their way into the main auditorium. It was decorated in stately tones, the impression of class and poise unmistakeable. Even the cat agility course projected an air of seriousness. A few owners were already taking their felines for runs over the course, or placing them onto inspection podiums to run through judging procedures with their animals. Most of the animals were far more demure than the cats Batman usually encountered. Not a single hiss or spit could be heard as the animals were carefully handled and moved around.

Mrs. Golightley strode through the center of the auditorium, her pace hurried as they neared a door in the back wall.

“This is where the cats stay overnight. We’re not allowed to take them home once they are registered in the competition,” she said, opening the door and ushering them through.

The back room adjacent to the auditorium was spacious enough for a hundred or more cats. Heavy metal shelves were affixed to three of the walls and crates of all sizes rested upon the shelving. Each owner brought their own crate for their cat, Batman realized. Most were large enough to fit two cats comfortably and were kept neat, toys, blankets, and food dishes arranged within. Mrs. Golightley, however, led them to the smallest crate in the entire room - barely big enough for a kitten to stretch out. Batman fingered a lock on one of the closed cages.

“Do the owners receive a key for their cat?” he asked Mrs. Golightley.

She nodded.

“I have a key to this crate and one of the judges is entrusted with the other. No one else should be able to let my kitten out. I think the judge is dirty,” she said in a loud stage whisper. “There’s no other explanation.”

“Now, now, let’s not go accusing without proof,” said the Commissioner, raising two hands in a defensive posture.

Batman knelt before the tiny crate and looked at the bottom of the lock. He grabbed a mini-LED flashlight from his belt and shone its intense beam over the keyhole. The other two watched with interest, Mrs. Golightley forgetting her ire for a moment.

“It’s been picked,” Batman announced, pointing at the keyhole. “See the scrapes against the keyhole opening? A normal key will certainly scratch, as the user misses and finds the fit, but a lockpick kit leaves finer, fresher grooves. Commissioner, I do believe this evidence points to the cat being stolen.”

“I knew it!” Mrs. Golightley roared. “Commissioner, I want my kitten back immediately! It’s a very rare breed, practically priceless! Its value will only increase when I win Grand Prize tomorrow. I want it back, and I want it in perfect condition.”

She poked her nose right into the Commissioner’s face and stabbed one long, bony finger at his tie. She was tall enough that the Commissioner was unable to loom over her, but he tried anyway.

“Mrs. Golightley,” he said, clipping the words off succinctly, “I have my best detectives on the case. You’ll hear from us the moment we have news of your kitten’s whereabouts.”

“I’d better. I’ll take this all the way to City Hall if I have to,” Mrs. Golightley seethed.

Batman melted into the shadows as the Commissioner opened his mouth to fire back. The two traded comments, unaware of his stealthy retreat. Batman ran his flashlight over the rest of the space as he walked the length of the shelves. He checked out every crevice and nook, seeking a way into the room. He’d noticed the single door into the room was in perfect working order, so the thief hadn’t entered that way - no evidence of lock picking. He wondered about that. If the thief had a perfectly good lockpicking kit, why not just use it to facilitate the whole crime?

A throat was quietly cleared behind him. Batman paused in his ruminations and turned to find an elderly security guard eyeing him nervously.

“Yes?” Batman rumbled.

“Can I uh, can I talk to you?” the man asked quietly.

He held his cap in both hands and twisted the brim. Batman watched him shuffle his feet and took in the sight of his bowed posture and rumpled uniform.

“Sure,” Batman nodded, indicating a quiet corner of the room. “What’s on your mind?”

“I uh, I need to share some information. Off the record, if you know what I mean? The police already interviewed me,” the security guard stammered.

“Okay, Bill,” said Batman, reading the man’s name tag. “I take it you were on duty last night?”

“That’s right,” Bill confirmed. “And I didn’t see anything. I don’t know how that tiny cage was opened, unless someone got a copy of the key or something.”

“It was picked,” Batman supplied. “Were you in this room guarding the cats?”

“To be honest,” Bill replied, leaning close, “I was asleep! Please don’t tell the cat show, I’ll be fired!”

He rubbed his neck in embarrassment, straightened out his cap, and settled it back on his head. His gray mustache twitched and he ran both hands over his five o’clock shadow nervously.

“I really need this job. It’s hard to keep awake all night, though. I have to take my daughter to school in the mornings, and-”

“-and we’re going to keep this confidential, off the record,” Batman cut in.

Relief overtook the man’s features and he sagged against the wall. “Thank you, Batman. I want that sweet little kitten found, but I’m not willing to get fired for the harpie over there.”

“You say it’s a kitten? Can you give a description?” Batman asked.

“Sure can. I’ve made friends with a fair amount of these cats in the last week, and I suppose they’re all valuable or whatever, but in my opinion that little kitty is worth more for her disposition. She’s got a tawny coat and big, sad green eyes. I imagine you’re not much of a cat person, but I am, and that little critter just wants a home where it is loved. I always take time to pet it every night. Since we’re off the record, I can be perfectly honest and say I’m truly glad the kitten is out of that crate. Have you heard the term failure to thrive?”

Batman nodded, not liking where the man’s information was going.

“I know it’s not usually used for a scenario like this, but Mrs. Golightley’s cat was looking thinner and less healthy to me. She’d stop in every six hours or so during the day - we keep a log, so I checked - but she would just run it through the course and drop in some food and water. Other than myself and the other guards, no one gave the kitten any love or attention. I’d personally use the term neglect, but I’m not saying anything illegal happened here. Except the theft, you understand?”

“I understand,” Batman replied, glancing over his shoulder to where the Commissioner and Mrs. Golightley were still arguing.

The rustle of a cleaning cart interrupted the pair as a woman from janitorial entered the room.

“Excuse me,” she said, touching the brim of her cap as she hefted a mop out of her mop bucket and started on the opposite end of the room.

A flash of metal between Bill’s feet caught Batman’s eye. He motioned for the security guard to step aside and knelt down.

“Now, this is interesting,” he said, holding up a small metal screw for Bill to see.

A moment of hunting with his flashlight revealed three more. Bill had been standing in front of the air return grate. A quick inspection revealed it was missing the four screws to secure it in place.

“Commissioner, I think we’ve found the method of entry,” Batman called.

The Commissioner and Mrs. Golightley crossed quickly, the woman slipping on wet tile as she passed. She clutched Commissioner Gordon’s arm to regain her balance.

“Put a sign up!” Mrs. Golightley snapped at the janitor.

The janitor tossed her long ponytail back and immediately complied, popping open a yellow, A-shaped CAUTION sign and standing it on the wet floor. She dipped her head even lower and went back to mopping.

“Commissioner Gordon, Bill and I discovered the screws to the air return were removed. I think our thief came in during the day, removed the screws, then used the ducts to enter and exit last night after the room was locked. Ah, Bill?”

Batman turned to the man, who was nearly quaking in his shoes.

“Bill, did you leave this room last night for any reason? Perhaps to use the facilities?”

Bill cleared his throat and straightened up. “Yes, that’s right Batman, I did. Only once, and I locked the door behind me.”

Batman gave a small smile and snapped his fingers. “That’s when the thief entered. Entrance and escape were already taken care of, so the thief only had to wait for the perfect moment to slip in and pick the lock!”

Bill nodded his head in quick motions of agreement, his hands clutched tightly together. Batman knew it was more likely the thief had waited to hear Bill’s snores before making his move, but it was all the same. Picking a tiny, uncomplicated lock like the ones on these crates would have taken no time at all.

Commissioner Gordon smiled. “I’ll radio forensics to come in at once. Maybe the thief was careless enough to leave a fingerprint behind. In the meantime, Mrs. Golightley, I suggest you go home and try to relax.”

In a moment, Commissioner Gordon went from tough and incisive to charming and concerned. The combination was too much for Mrs. Golightley, who softened a bit as he steered her toward the door.

“Well, alright, but you’re sure you’ve got _all_ your men searching for my little Whiskersoft?”

“Yes, Ma’am. _All_ my men. On the case. For your cat.” The irony was lost on Mrs. Golightley.

She gave them one last look and clicked away in her black heels, heading for the front of the building. The tension in the room deflated. Bill looked back and forth between the Commissioner and Batman, suddenly aware he was no longer needed.

“Well, then, I’ll take myself off too, unless you have any more questions?” He took a half-step back toward the door.

The Commissioner opened his mouth, but Batman shook his head.

“He’s fine, Jim. He already gave a statement.”

Commissioner Gordon nodded. A wet slap behind them reminded the men that the janitor was still completing her rounds in the room.

“Let’s go where we can talk privately, Batman,” suggested the Commissioner. They went back into the auditorium, where they could speak under cover of the scattered conversations of various cat owners around the room.

“Mrs. Golightley doesn’t care one whit about that cat, so long as it brings her money or prestige,” the Commissioner started in disgust.

“Bill would agree with you. He thought the animal was getting depressed from lack of attention,” Batman murmured, keeping his voice pitched below the bustling sounds around them.

“The trainer at the circus talked about how expensive his animals are, too. I suppose it’s a concern when we’re dealing with theft, but these are living things.” Commissioner Gordon sighed and shook his head.

“Jim, what with the monetary value of these cats and the cat-burglar techniques used to procure them, I think we have to name Catwoman as the main suspect. She has the skills necessary to do both jobs. She’s also got a nose for valuables. Stealing living animals seems a bit afield of her usual prey...”

“Diamonds and jewelry, you mean? Yes, it does. But we’ve seen Gotham’s criminals escalate and take new directions before. All right, I’ll put out an APB on her.”

The Commissioner unsnapped the radio on his belt, but Batman placed a hand on his arm.

“Before you do that, do you mind if I try talking to her? She’s a criminal, but she’s generally non-violent. She’s helped me in the past when there was no other option. And she genuinely likes cats. I want to hear what she has to say for herself.”

“I can give you twenty-four hours, Batman,” the Commissioner agreed. “After that, if there are no other suspects, we really must move. Unpleasant owners aside, I have a duty to the law here.”

“Understood, Jim. Thanks for letting me tag along this morning.”

Batman crushed his empty coffee cup and tossed it into a trash can next to the front door. He stepped out, ignoring the gasps of several pedestrians on the sidewalk. Once he was clear of the building, he fired his grappling hook high overhead and swung away without a backward glance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce does his usual tightrope walk between his dual lives. Bruce flirts with Selina at a charity ball.

Bruce straightened the sleeves of his jacket and smoothed his hair back as he strode quickly to his office on the top floor of Wayne Industries. It was 8:06 am, according to the clock on the wall above a sea of cubicles. He smiled at the various clerks that looked up as he sailed by. One man, however, stood at the coffee bar at the end of the row with a frown on his face.

“Late again, Bruce. The Board has been waiting for…” he glanced at the clock, “...seven minutes. Can’t you save your escapades for the weekend? You’ve still got lipstick on your collar.”

Bruce silently blessed Alfred for remembering the little details.

“Oops, good thing I’ve got a fresh shirt in my office,” he muttered, faking a sheepish look. “Well, tell the Board they need to wait three minutes more?”

The man sighed gustily as he stirred his coffee and shook his head.

“Aw, cut me a little slack, Philmore? It’s only ten minutes of their time. And besides,” Bruce put on the boyish grin that had launched a thousand fansites, “it _was_ all for charity.”

Philmore grumbled as he stalked away toward the board room. Bruce grinned to himself. He let himself into his office, waving at his secretary before closeting himself inside the office’s interior behind a heavily ornate wooden door. He nabbed a fresh shirt off of a rack in one corner of the enormous space and quickly switched out. A polite knock sounded as he resecured his power tie in front of the mirror on his door.

“Enter!” he called, stepping back.

Debra, his secretary, sashayed in holding a clipboard. She clicked her tongue at him.    

“You sure put Phil in a tizzy this morning. Have mercy on the poor man,” she admonished. “Here’s your schedule and the materials for the meeting. This one’s gonna be a bloodbath, sorry to say. You shouldn’t have kept them waiting.”

“I can handle the board, Debra. What’s on my schedule for tonight?” Bruce asked.

His mind raced ahead to the hours after sunset. He wondered where he should start the search for Catwoman.

“Charity ball for a cat conservation group,” Debra reported, cutting into his thoughts.

Bruce groaned. “Can I cancel?”

“I suppose. Selina Kyle’s on the board-”

“Selina will be there?” Bruce’s ears perked up as he finished tucking in his shirt and took the clipboard from Debra.

Debra didn’t meet his eyes, but a knowing smile brought out her dimple. Bruce realized she’d mentioned that fact on purpose. He sighed, but with good humor.

“I’ll go. It’s fine. Can you call Alfred-”

“And make sure your tux is ready? Already done. What would you do without me, Mr. Wayne?” Debra chuckled at his expression.

“Suffer. Greatly.”

Bruce flashed Debra one last winning smile and stepped jauntily to the board room, armed with the materials she’d prepared.

Later that day, Bruce sat alone in his office, the door partially shut against the bustle of the top floor. His lunch - a high quality sushi tray prepared by his favorite chef in town - sat untouched as he stared off into space. The board meeting had been… not good. Several of their products were in a sales slump no one could explain, and one particular land development project had everyone out of sorts. He wanted to be excited about the prospect of seeing Selina later, but work had him in a serious funk.

A surreptitious tap on the doorjamb pulled Bruce from his thoughts and he looked up to see Chuck Howson, his number one accountant, peep around the door.

“Hey, Mr. Wayne, is this a good time?” Howson’s round face was more serious than usual as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

“It’s fine,” Bruce replied, waving him in.

“So, I tracked down those figured you wanted,” Howson began.

He placed a manila file folder on the edge of Bruce’s desk, carefully avoiding the sushi as he flipped it open. Bruce could feel his eyes glaze over at the mere hint of the colored pie charts and various graphs Howson’s collected printouts promised.

“Let’s cut to the chase. Howson, what kind of money are we talking here?” Bruce put his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers under his chin.

“Well, Mr. Wayne, the cost of re-zoning, all the permits, and frankly, the bribes to various Gotham City officials…” Howson pushed his glasses up as Bruce motioned with one hand for him to continue, “...it’s in the neighborhood of-”

The figure he named set Bruce’s ears back. No wonder the board had been calling him all week. Even the deep pockets of Wayne Industries would be considerably lighter if the corporation committed to the multi-use development he’d dreamed up. He’d envisioned it with Wayne employees in mind, but it didn’t matter. For that amount, it would be cheaper to put them all up in nice hotels for a couple of years.

Bruce sighed, irritated. “This is my land, isn’t it? How can they charge me so much to develop my own land?”

“Realities of living in a big city, Sir,” Howson shrugged. “Take it up with City Council.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Bruce stood and shook out his broad shoulders. “That’ll be all, Howson. Thanks.”

Howson gave a mock salute, turned on a heel, and exited the lavish office. The door closed softly behind him. Bruce rubbed his eyes and sighed again. He reviewed reports for a few more hours, annotating them or calling Debra on the comm to ask for follow-ups on one thing or another. Finally the grandfather clock against the wall chimed five. Bruce stood and pulled on his suit jacket, eager to get out of Wayne Industries for the day.

He’d have to pull a Cinderella at the charity ball this evening. As much fun as one more overcrowded, champagne-soaked benefit would be, Batman needed to get out on the streets to search for Catwoman before Commissioner Gordon set his sights on her. It had been quite a while since he’d had a good excuse to see Selina, though. They knew each other well enough that he could call her up for brunch, or even coffee, but something about her always made him hesitate. The cover of another philanthropic event felt… required.

It was probably the intensity of purpose that radiated off of her, honed down to a sharp, tiny, tolerant smile whenever she encountered Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s playboy. Come to think of it, Catwoman had a similar intense energy apparent the few times he had encountered her. He could imagine Selina’s laugh at being compared to the famous cat burglar. She’d probably love it. She wasn’t the type to be shocked.

The ball started at 8 o’clock. Alfred had him dressed and coiffed with thirty minutes to spare. Bruce set out from Wayne Manor in an appropriately sleek sports car, knowing Alfred would meet him with the Batmobile at midnight in one of their hidden places around town. He took his time on the winding roads leading back into the city, then roared up to the valet parking in front of the Natural History Museum exactly fifteen minutes after eight o’clock. Sometimes he did a better job of pretending to be irresponsible and late, but tonight he figured ‘nearly on time’ served just as well.

Bruce tossed his keys to the valet, flicked imaginary dust off of the shoulder of his tux, and headed in. He handed a pre-filled and signed check to a well-dressed lady at a table covered in red velvet. When he smiled, she blushed to match the tablecloth and gave him his proof of plate purchase - a little gold cheetah pin for his lapel. He pinned it carefully and set the backing. It wouldn’t do to break a thread on this tux. Alfred would murder him in his sleep.

He had another check already prepared for his actual donation to the cause. It was a number that he hoped would make that tiny smile of Selina’s broaden into something authentic.

Warm light, the melodic strains of a string quartet, and the unmistakable musty smell of fossilized dinosaurs swept over Bruce as he entered the main hall of Gotham’s Natural History Museum. He took a proffered glass of champagne and pretended to sip it, one hand in his pocket as he casually walked the perimeter of the gathering. A banner emblazoned with the phrase “Gotham Cat and Habitat Conservation Society Annual Charity Ball” stretched across a raised dais toward the back of the large space. A generous dance floor had been put down in the center.

Curiously, several of the tableaus of taxidermied big cats from different sections of the museum had been brought in, but the glass enclosures were spattered with red paint. It looked as though blood striped the exteriors of scenes of lions taking down zebras, pumas feasting on deer, and other cats made to look fierce in their natural environments.

Bruce came close to the dais and saw the table for the board of directors, placards for the officers at each of their seats. Selina Kyle was behind the table, rifling through her clutch for something.

Bruce stood at the foot of the dais, champagne in hand, and looked up at the beautiful woman with a smile gracing his lips. She’d cut her dark hair stylishly short. In combination with her strapless evening gown, it made her pale neck look beautifully slender. She snapped her clutch shut and straightened up. He caught her eye, then, and she narrowed her gaze in admonishment.

“Staring is rude, Bruce,” Selina called out to him across the table.

He only grinned, not taking his eyes away for a moment. She shook her head, exasperated, and came around to the edge of the dais. He met her at the steps and handed her down, her other gloved hand gently lifting her dress away from her high heels as she descended.

“I knew you were a cat fancier, Selina, but I had no idea you were involved in rescue and conservation as well,” Bruce rumbled, tugging her fingers forward and dropping a light kiss on them as soon as she was steady on her feet.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Bruce. Neglect and abuse of felines is a major problem - both in Gotham and abroad. This charity aims to assist both locally and globally.”

Selina took her hand back, subconsciously rubbing the glove where he’d kissed her. Bruce glanced around at the unusual decor and indicated one of the exhibits with a sweep of his hand.

“Is that why you held the ball here at the Natural History Museum? So you could use the exhibits as examples?”

“Exactly right,” Selina agreed. “Most of these animals were killed and taxidermied over eighty years ago, when there were no laws and no concept of protection for predators. The museum has no moral obligation to remove them, but they did agree to let us gussy them up a bit to make our point.”

“The red certainly does that - startling and stark,” Bruce mused.

“Good. I hope it shocks a few of these socialites into a conscience,” replied Selina harshly.

She caught herself and sighed, smoothing her face into a more agreeable expression.

“Sorry, Bruce. Sometimes I look at the wealth floating around this city… and it breaks my heart a little for the less fortunate.”

“I understand completely,” Bruce agreed, his deep voice barely above a whisper.

Selina stifled a shiver. She broke eye contact with him and glanced around the bustling room.

“Are you cold? Here, take my jacket,” he offered, but she shook her head.

“I’m fine,” Selina insisted. “In fact, I should probably-”

“Hold that thought,” Bruce cut in as the quartet shifted into a jazz standard with a good beat. “Let’s dance, Selina.”

Overwhelming her protests with carefully cultivated charm, he enjoyed one dance with Selina Kyle, then released her to her duties. He made sure to pass in front of at least one reputable photographer while they were on the floor. It served Wayne Industries for him to be active on the charity circuit, but he felt the publicity served Selina, too. Her ambition was well known. It would be good for her image to have a little innocent fun.

When the time came for dinner, Bruce found himself among a few older members of Gotham’s elite, which he didn’t mind at all. He was usually stuck in the company of vapid young women, but there were fewer of those than usual at this event. He shrugged to himself. Perhaps they were mostly dog people. He seated himself next to a couple that had been friends of his parents and spent the meal catching up with them and looking at photos of their grandchildren on their smartphones. He resisted the urge to check his watch frequently. They listened to various speakers, including Selina, make impassioned pleas for funds to help the small cats of Gotham and the big cats of the world. When the hat was passed to accept donations, he dropped in his check.

Midnight came sooner than he expected, despite his impatience. He feigned tiredness and accompanied his parents’ friends out, making sure to exchange one last pleasantry with Selina before he left.

Once he was in his vehicle, Bruce touched base with Alfred, already waiting in a warehouse he owned down by the river. Somehow, the streetlights in that part of town were always burning out and it was singularly difficult to get a good view of passing cars.

Bruce allowed himself a private moment of thought as he drove to the rendezvous point. There’d been an unusual sparkle in Selina’s eyes that night, the kind of thing Bruce associated with hang gliding or watching your team win the Superbowl. He wondered what fueled her exhilaration.  She had flirted with him during their single dance, her lithe figure indicating physical attraction even as her clever tongue said no in twenty different ways.

He’d happily take a lashing like that every day of the week if it meant he could see her more often. She only knew him as the playboy, however. He projected charm, irreverence, immaturity. Bruce knew it would never win over someone as driven as Selina. She was looking for an equal, a partner. As the Batman, he could never risk getting in so deep.

He pulled into a broad alley beside his building and depressed a button on his dash. A sturdy, well-oiled garage door raised up with hardly a sound. Bruce nosed the sports car inside and cut the engine. The garage door lowered behind him.

“Did you have a good time?” asked Alfred as Bruce tossed him the keys.

“I ran into the McAllisters. It was nice,” Bruce commented mildly.

He carefully removed his tux jacket and handed it to Alfred, who draped it over one arm. Next came the slacks. Alfred had them both on a hanger before Bruce could blink. He placed his bow tie in Alfred’s waiting palm and added the cufflinks. The familiarity of years meant that no words needed to be exchanged.

When Bruce slipped his dress shirt off over his shoulders and reached for the hanger Alfred held, the older man slapped his hand.

“You'd best be about your business, Sir,” he reproved, taking the dress shirt away.

“And leave you to yours, I see,” Bruce chuckled. “Batmobile, open,” he commanded.

The smooth, tinted hatch slid back and he leapt over the side into the driver’s seat. A push of a button set the seat to recline. As soon as he was horizontal, he was fitted with his batsuit, hidden in the bowels of the vehicle. The engine roared to life as the seat brought him back up. Batman nodded once to Alfred and spun off into the night.


End file.
